They Abandoned Grandma for “Being Too Slow.” They Weren’t Ready for My Revenge. (2 of 4)

It was Grandma. Her voice was shaking.

“Sweetheart… I’m still at the airport. They left without me. It took too long to get my wheelchair to the gate, and they said they couldn’t miss the flight.”

I froze. Surely, I misunderstood. Surely, there was an explanation.

I texted my Aunt Karen: Why is Grandma alone at the airport? She’s crying.

The reply was instant—and ice cold:

WE’RE ON VACATION. WE’RE NOT BABYSITTERS. MAYBE IF SHE WASN’T SO SLOW, SHE COULD HAVE KEPT UP. DON’T RUIN THIS FOR US.

That was it—the moment the last thread of my patience snapped.

I called a Lyft and headed straight to the airport. There she was, still in the same seat, clutching her small bag like it was the only thing keeping her anchored. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cardigan. She tried to smile when she saw me, but her eyes told the truth.

I hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She shrugged like it wasn’t new—like this was the kind of treatment she’d learned to accept. Somehow, that hurt even more.

I took her home, made her tea, tucked her into her favorite chair. She defended them, saying, “They were probably just stressed.” She didn’t know what they’d said to me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.